


yang tertinggal dan yang terserak

by magma_maiden



Series: heartless, dragonless, sunless [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Naruto
Genre: ASOIAF!Naruto, Angst, F/M, Female Senju Hashirama, Female Uchiha Izuna, Tragedy, fusion fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magma_maiden/pseuds/magma_maiden
Summary: what's left and scattered: last notes of the realm
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna
Series: heartless, dragonless, sunless [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/850779
Comments: 25
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> naruto (c) masashi kishimoto  
> a song of ice and fire (c) george r.r. martin  
> no profit taken from this fic
> 
> this is a compilation of ficlets i originally published in _a dance of flame and forest, keep me up all night, the art of war_ with minor addition/edits. there might be new content later.
> 
> first chapter is expanded from _keep me up all night_ #4

To say that she wasn’t expecting this was a lie. The chakra within her told her it’s time.

Hashirama had long pondered over this since the princess scorched the forest—an act she was condemning and feeling thankful for. _His_ influence was lessened thanks to her and her cousins’ fire.

His demented demands still lingered in the back of her psyche, though. Demented or not, Hashirama was determined to use whatever she held to end this civil war.

"I will not bend my knee," she told the carved face of her ancestor on the scorched tree, some moon phases ago, "there must be another way to end the war without sacrificing more blood of our people. I will do anything to protect the realm." 

Anything. 

* * *

Izuna was deeply asleep; Tobirama was at the city gates, ready with an army. Between his dying sister and her besieging brother, they were dancing on the tip of spears and swords, delicate branches and dragon's bones.

The war started by their ancestors wasn't over yet, and they must be alive to continue the dance until the end.

Hashirama didn’t doubt her healing abilities—oh so handy; all she needed was to command the wounds to close, and they’d obey her like some sort of a goddess—and the palace’s apothecary arsenal. The healers said she’s hanging between life and death but her hunch told her Princess Izuna would make it.

Her worry was on another thing. There’s nothing that’d guarantee Emperor Madara would keep the realm in peace, nothing she could think of, except through one way. The way her ancestor approved wholeheartedly.

Thankfully, the palace hadn’t thrown out her clothes. Thankfully, the growth spurt she gained in the forest meant they were smaller for her now, her body threatening to rip out their seams, buttons barely holding her breasts from view. Hashirama knew men in the palace looked at her the same way they eyed pleasure ladies, but her sight was locked to her betrothed alone.

It’s just a matter of time until the emperor surrendered to his worldly desires.

* * *

She was exhausted, vigilant, thirsty. His chakra was roaring madly wildly restlessly, filling every corner with his presence; unbidden and undeniable. If she weren't Senju Hashirama, she would simply lie back, close her eyes and think of the realm she was defending. But she was Asura's blood, and him Indra's. They were at war.

She would stand and look at her enemy—formerly a friend and a fiance, currently an emperor and her conspirator.

Hashirama gripped the rims of his robe, hissing between his touches, “this is treason against our allies.” Her back met the wall, heartbeat rising in anticipation. Every inch of him was blazing, setting herself alight wherever his hands wandered. 

Madara shook his head. “Don't fool yourself; they're all opportunistic, using our names and blood and ancestors to protect their own interests.” He found her lips easily in the darkness and heat of his bedroom; almost as hot as the legendary dragons' cradle. 

She inhaled the scent of his mane, fingers trailing the nape of his neck. She buried her face near his clavicle, skirt hiked past her thighs, her breath hitched in her throat. 

“Don't hold back,” he commanded with a mocking chuckle.

“The servants will hear—”

“Don't care.”

“Let me catch my breath.”

Madara retracted his hand, stepping back. Hashirama was panting, a thousand thoughts swarming back into her mind, her chakra flaring, screaming, accusing: treachery.

Their betrothal was never broken. Let's say they were merely honoring the pact their fathers made years ago. Uchiha's blood oath would protect her from anyone who wished to see her dead. Tonight might be their only shot. No healers could tell whether Izuna would survive or die in her care.

“Hashirama.”

His robe fell. She pushed Madara to his bed, drawn by her desire to explore him further, guessing where her enemy ended to begin her...

Her what? Friend fiance ally? Rival? Are these things still important before the war cries they're dancing to?

Hashirama sat above him, memorizing and tasting the emperor. Madara was a plane of muscles and battle scars; most she carved herself, and she smirked to that thought. She traced one across his right chest, a remnant from their first spar using an actual sword. Another on his left side, near the hips, from their meeting in the woods on the day her powers awakened.

“We don't have all night,” he said as he unclasped her dress.

She threw away her clothes, almost seeing into his eyes that would break her first rule of war. With ease Madara switched their position, sinking his teeth into her exposed neck. She clutched his back, gasping. The dragon had marked her.

She’s his until the realm is unmade.

Hashirama opened her eyes to the dark canopy above them, thinking about the wreaked realm, their betrayed allies and siblings, their uncertain future—tomorrow the crown princess could die or her brother would storm the palace after four nights waiting or— 

_Madara, Madara, Madara_

—she could be waking up pregnant with an Uchiha heir.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> taken from _a dance of flame and forest_ , #10 (first part) and #14

"You're joking."

Madara frowned, watching his falcon fly away. "I'm not. It's a politically good match."

Izuna paced around restlessly. "She used me, brother! She used me to feed you with her lies. I should've died so you can kill her without remorse." She stopped, knuckles trembling in anger.

Her brother looked at her blankly. "You usually don't oppose my choice."

"Because this is a stupid choice!" Izuna's voice awakened other falcons in their cages. "you're taking Usurper's blood as your consort. The throne might never accept your children like it accepts us."

Madara crossed the room in swift steps, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Izuna, you're still the crown princess. I can't lose you."

"...Did she bash your head the last time you two fought?"

"She parried my attacks, all while asking to heal you." Madara took a deep breath. "Do you remember why Father chose Mother?"

"what's the point? don't change the topic so suddenly."

"Father never beat her in chess. She's the only one who can beat him." He released her, extending his arm as his falcon returned. "The throne's chosen ones favor the strong, like Emperor Indra himself."

Izuna gaped at him. "Are you saying--"

Madara put his falcon into the cage. "Hashirama is carrying my heir--"

"What the hell!"

"--so I can't terminate the betrothal our fathers arranged long ago. Don't yell, Izuna." Madara gestured at the resting birds around them.

"Ugh..." She massaged her temple. "I need to beat Hashirama. Her brother too."

"She's pregnant."

"Oh right. Nine months aren't that long, I'll wait."

"She'll be nursing my heir by then. Just beat Tobirama."

"Damn well I will."

Madara smirked. "Keep an eye on him. He's shrewder than his sister." He walked towards the stairs. "Let them know that they're mere guests in the dragons' den."

Izuna curtsied, grinning. "Yes, Your Majesty."

As he descended, Madara tried to sense his surroundings, but again not finding what he sought since his late father’s death.

The Whisperer was missing.

He was never missing before, always sticking like a rice grain to the emperor and his heirs. With Madara’s dwindling supporters and siege before the capital, searching for the Whisperer wasn’t a priority. He had been loyal to the throne, but to Madara, his motives were questionable.

At least he was nowhere near Hashirama and his unborn heir.

His betrothed had changed a lot since their last meeting in the edge of a forest, where her powers awakened. She was taller, nearly his height, blessed with powers only one could dream of. Much to Madara’s surprise, she was willing to honor their fathers’ pact.

Madara noticed how she behaved around him when she stayed in the palace to monitor Izuna’s recovery. The stressful months burdening his psyche following his enthronement found release in nights he spent with her, in his chamber. He realized Hashirama might need to secure her life had she failed to heal Izuna….

But she succeeded, and now she’s out there with an heir in her womb.

He smiled at that thought. A normal life with someone he cherished, finally.

* * *

The silence was deafening after Tobirama’s harsh refusal tore through the air. Hashirama closed her eyes, breathing deeply, counting to ten before she faced her brother again, still simmering with rage.

"It’s political.”

“He’s still marrying you, for Sage’s sake. political or not, I'd say let’s storm the palace and kill him–”

“Tobirama.” Hashirama nearly shouted at him. “Half of the realm declares me an empress. The rest is under his rule as the emperor. If we’re married, we have no reason to continue this civil war.”

“He did something to you while you stayed to heal Izuna, didn’t he?” He swept the room with his chakra, so intense that any foot soldier would be suffocated at once. "I should’ve killed Izuna for good–”

"If you did that, Madara would want you killed before he said peace.” Hashirama walked forward, pushing her own chakra against his. "I do this to protect you and the realm. I'm not doing this for my own gain…” she trailed off.

Tobirama’s chakra dissipated, but he was still glaring at her.

"I personally get nothing out of this union,” she continued with a pained expression. "I don’t even love Madara.”

“Promise me that this will remain political, Sister.”

Hashirama nodded. "I will never love him that way.”

He finally left, and she could breathe freely. Hashirama tied her tent flap behind him. The besieging army was still surrounding the palace, but the mood was light, almost jovial. It had been like this when Hashirama returned by dawn, bringing the news of the princess’ recovery to her supporters. They were reluctant to leave however, insisting to see the peace process until the end. Lord Ashina Uzumaki had offered to help her with drafting treaties, which she accepted wholeheartedly. Things were seemingly going well.

Except for the turmoil in her heart.

What’s she doing now… was she lying to everyone? Is this what she became now? Lying to her brother, to her fiance, to everyone, so much that Hashirama couldn’t tell which one was the truth and which was falsehood.

Does she have to discard her feelings, her thoughts, for peace? For a prosperous realm? What more she could ask; she had her livelihood secured, a fiance who was willing to accept her back despite her bloodline and  _ his wretched demands _ ….

Her back slid down, leaning on a dresser. She stretched her fingers towards the tent’s ceiling.

“No matter what happens.”

Deep in her psyche, Ashura hummed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the art of war #7 and a dance #15

Dulled swords. Polished floor. Glamorous coats hidden in the shadows. Nobles making a circle under the gleaming chandelier. She had traded her gown for a pair of breeches.

Crown Princess, Commander General.

High Lord of the forest, Rainmaker.

Right hands to the rulers of the realm.

She charged the moment the gong sang. Her opponent dodged to the left; she threw her sword to her free hand, changing her grip. He dodged it again by a hair's breadth, teeth gritting. She nearly laughed. He wasn't used to fighting with swordsmanship alone.

Izuna preferred they did this with actual swords, sharp and deadly, forged to kill. She wouldn't mind spectators either, but she would trade these opulent watchers to foot soldiers. Hers and her brother's. That b—the empress should watch too, so she could see her brother die in her hands.

Her opponent finally attacked. She let a soft laugh escape her lips; oh she knew him well! He would throw his weight to the left, pivoting, so he could take her by surprise. The crowd's gasps pumped her adrenaline. Her feet traced the familiar footwork; swift and nimble. Dull blades clashing, showing their strengths. sweat rolled past the red marks on his cheeks. The dragoness taunted.

"Don't you dare hold back."

It wasn't the first time princess-general Uchiha Izuna clashed blades with Lord Senju Tobirama. She beat everyone in her age group as a girl, until the two Senju were brought to study in the palace. He's a quick learner and a better tactician than her. Izuna didn't miss him when he fled north, no. She just missed making him squirm with her dance.

Red eyes narrowing, he charged. Parry, parry, deflect. It was her turn to grit her teeth. Tobirama was gaining the upper hand, but he was too late. The gong sang for the second time. Their blades ceased to move.

"A draw," an elderly sage announced, "the balance has been restored." His voice boomed over the wonder-stricken guests. Murmurs rose all over the room, praises and claps poured for the pair.

They knelt before the bride and groom, offering their services for the realm. Nothing but rehearsed words. Izuna had been offering hers since she was old enough to sit upright. Ceremonies upon ceremonies, and she couldn't draw his blood.

She was thirsty.

As Madara accepted her ceremonial sword, Izuna recalled his words days ago.

_ Let them know that they're mere guests in the dragons' den. _

* * *

They both were sent away to change their clothes. Tobirama had been walking ahead of her in the hallway, but Izuna made her presence known, forcing him to adhere to courtesy.

"Your Highness," he dipped his head.

"My Lord." Izuna smiled, perhaps too wide. "I hope I didn't make you too tired to join the feast."

"It is alright."

Not as sociable as his sister, it seems. Izuna matched her steps with his long strides, unwilling to let him go so easily. "Do you think we'll get a nephew or a niece first?"

"Isn't it too soon to guess? Our siblings are just married."

She looked at him straight into his eyes. "Not that soon. Your sister will give birth this year's winter."

"...What are you suggesting?" Tobirama had stopped walking.

Izuna turned, blinking innocently. "So your sister hasn't told you?" She put a hand over her mouth. "She did more than just healing me when she stayed here, you know. My handmaids said they saw her slipping into my brother's bedroom late at night..."

He turned away, jumping over the hedges before the princess finished talking. She watched his tall form run across the garden, taking a shortcut to his chamber.

The dragoness grinned in triumph. She had drawn the first blood in this war.

* * *

“Oh! What brings you so early here?”

Madara stopped buttoning up his shirt, listening intently. He was hidden away from his chamber’s entrance, behind a partition and half a dozen other heavy set of furniture. Hashirama’s tone spoke of cheerful surprise, which made it suspicious. Who was it? He didn’t need to mold his chakra; the guest replied immediately.

"I need to ask you something.”

He grinned to himself. The younger Senju–wait, he’s Lord Senju now; leader to his clan and his alliance and blahblahblah–was his second favorite game after the older one. The uneasiness in his voice fed the emperor’s delight.

Steps. “What is it, Tobirama?” His next words were inaudible, but Hashirama’s next reaction was enough for him. “…Where did you hear that!?”

“Izuna.”

A pause. “You believe her?” An awkward laugh. “Don’t take it seriously; she’s just joki–”

“Sister.”

She fell silent. Ah, poor Hashirama, being cornered by her own blood sibling. Time to rescue her then.

Madara unbuttoned his shirt, unceremoniously tossing it away as he left the partition. He maintained eye contact with Lord Senju, who scrunched up his nose upon seeing his shirtless state. Hugging her from behind, Madara slid his hand over Hashirama’s womb, and kept it there.

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed.

Madara had to suppress a grin. “Morning, Hashirama.” He lightly kissed her neck, on the dragon’s mark he left nights ago. “What does our little brother want?”

“Madara,” Hashirama hissed, warning him.

“Nothing,” Tobirama answered, lips pulled in a tight diplomatic smile. “Pardon my intrusion, Your Majesties.” He bowed slightly and left without another word.

* * *

Hashirama shoved his arms, turning around. “Can’t you be at least more civil towards him?” She sighed deeply.

He raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that civil enough? We weren’t raising our swords.”

“Never mind that; where’s your clothes? We’re already late for breakfast… let’s not make the elders wait.” Hashirama grabbed a wooden comb, tidying her hair.

“There’s no need to rush.” Madara crossed his arms, watching the muscles on her exposed back. “They are expecting us to be late.”

Hashirama looked at him through her mirror’s reflection. “…You should’ve told me earlier; I could use more sleep.”

“Oh no, you shouldn’t be sleeping.”

“So what do you suggest I should do?”

Madara cocked his head to the side, smirking. “Strip, Hashirama.”

Her lips parted, seemingly going to say something, but she doubled over. Madara could only watch as she scrambled to the nearest chamber pot, throwing up inside.

He smiled at his own reflection. “Ah, the joys of pregnancy.”

Hashirama threw a pillow at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expanded from the art of war #5 and #9
> 
> some timeskip from previous chapter. some mentions of miscarriages

The twins would be five this winter.

Tobirama watched them playing by the fountain, their nannies in tow, occasionally calling him with their high-pitched voice to show their discovery; a wriggling worm or shiny coin someone dropped. Their clothes were smeared with dirt; Tobirama had long surrendered trying to keep them away from the grasses. He chose not to risk dirtying his clothes, as it was made for court with richly embroidered edges. would be a pain to change again before dinner later.

"Lord Senju."

Tobirama jolted up, his heart racing. He didn't hear her approaching. "Your Highness," he nodded in greeting.

"Auntie!" yelled the twins, running towards her and gave her a brief hug. They left four muddy hand prints on her dark grey dress.

"Brats," Izuna muttered under her breath as she sat on his bench. "Was your sister this active as a child?"

"...Yes."

"So they got it from their mother."

Tobirama hadn't seen Izuna this close since the battle in the sacred forest, where he sliced her open and put her in mortal danger. There were always others with them; their siblings, the council, guards. He hadn't said anything in person regarding that too.

They were at war. It’s that simple.

But why is it still bothering him?

"I meant no offense," Izuna spoke, "but many among us Uchiha doubt the throne will accept the twins."

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"You're their uncle," she answered as a matter of fact, "whether I like it or not, I owe my life to Hashirama. My brother is married to her," she added with a huff. "Yet the crown princess title is still mine, unless they awaken their sharingan."

"Do you want to be an empress then?"

"Frankly, no."

Tobirama let the conversation die, dwelling on his own thoughts. He was very adamant on killing Izuna, even stating it several times to Hashirama.

Because if Izuna died immediately on the battlefield, Hashirama wouldn't offer herself to heal her as a part of the peace agreement. And if Hashirama didn't stay in the palace to heal her, Madara and her wouldn't...

"It's still strange seeing you without your armor, Lord Senju," Izuna rose, "but I like your court attire better."

Tobirama watched her stroll back towards the palace, wondering why she approached him all of a sudden, and left just as abruptly.

The nannies clapped and shouted, announcing that it’s time to change for dinner. Tobirama followed them back, far behind them to mull over his thoughts.

His sister was healthy and active, no healers found anything unusual in her body either. Yet for some reason, all her pregnancies after the twins resulted in a stillbirth and miscarriages—two late term and two early term. Afterwards she stopped trying altogether. Madara, to Tobirama’s surprise, refused to take another wife despite Uchiha emperors in the past used to have concubines….

As much as he loathed the emperor, it seemed Madara didn’t see Hashirama as mere powerful blood to add to his clan. There were talks about increasing the number of heirs, though, and those were directed to the crown princess more than the empress.

And as much as he disliked banquets, watching Izuna dodging potential suitors was quite fun. There’d be one tomorrow, organized painstakingly by Hashirama to ensure the nobles that they were fine.

He hoped so, too.

* * *

Opening a hatch, Izuna carefully looked around. She emerged from an underground passage behind the flower bushes. Her heavy gown was smeared with dust and dirt, but the only thing she cared about was her successful escape. It was so stifling inside the palace; she had to get out just to breathe. The Empress had invited random peasants from all over the realm to have a banquet with the rulers and nobles.

Crown Princess Izuna didn't dislike the idea, but if she had to be there for another five minutes, she would pass out. Madara and the servants knew she wasn't a party lover. Nobody would notice her gone, except Hashirama herself probably.

The thought of disappointing her somehow lowered her spirits. Sure Izuna kept her distance from that woman, though treating her coldly just didn’t sit well with her. Madara had been in love with her since before the shitstorm, and amazingly still did during the shitstorm.

Sometimes she did wonder whether the curse that plagued her clan wasn’t of hatred, but love. She shuddered at that thought. Can’t she just love her petrified dragon egg instead of some noblemen who got thrilled thinking to score a princess?

Like some young noblemen inside who were trying to ask her for a dance. Cringing would sour diplomatic relations her brother had been painstakingly restoring all these years. One short dance perhaps wouldn't hurt, but it would lead to a marriage proposal quickly. Then someone  _ would _ get hurt.

Izuna strolled along the paved path lined with torches, breathing the night air deeply. She encountered nobody until she arrived at the intersection, where a large banyan grew on its center. A man dressed in navy blue robe stood by, holding a half full wine glass.

"Princess Izuna."

"Lord Senju," Izuna returned his greeting. Finally, a little entertainment. "Avoiding the crowds, I see."

Senju Tobirama glanced at her briefly before staring at the carved face again. "I could say the same to you." He sipped his wine. "We're not suited in crowded places."

"I handled it better than you." Izuna stopped beside him. "I actually socialized with some guests..."

"You mean pretending to be interested in horse racing and poetry," he quickly added, the corner of his lips tugged upwards.

"Hey!"

"Don't think I didn't pay attention."

Izuna rolled her eyes. "Still better than Lord 'Sulking in the corner avoiding the girls wanting me to dance with them'."

"Because their fathers were nearby. They're waiting until I show interest in their daughter, then persuade my sister to arrange... meetings, between us."

She could sense obvious disdain from his tone, which prompted her to chuckle. "So I'm not the only one who loathes eager nobles playing matchmakers."

"I heard you refused Lord Sarutobi's son." Tobirama turned towards her. "Why?"

"Eh. Not feeling it." Izuna shrugged. She realized where they were, then added, "he was... okay; but I've known him since we were five. He's like an... unofficial brother to me. But," she grabbed the momentum, "how about you? You seem to cherish bachelor life so much. No plan to settle down?" Izuna teased, playing her old game again.

Tobirama was taken aback by her question. It took awhile before he muttered, "I'm too busy with research and council."

"Really?" She leaned closer towards him, tilting her head. "Don't forget where we are now, Lord Senju. You shall tell no lies before your ancestor, no?"

"...Fine." Tobirama's eyebrows furrowed, shoulders pulled back as he tried to relax himself. "Perhaps I've had my eyes set on someone unattainable."

"Unattainable how? You're the most eligible bachelor in the entire realm." She laughed. "Anyone would love to pique your interest."

"Because I doubt her family will accept me." Tobirama finished his drink. "She probably hates me too."

Izuna grabbed his arm before he could take a step back. "Why would she hate you? Did you insult her in front of her family?"

He shook his head, tensing in her grasp. "No, I... I almost killed her."

Her scar tingled. Clutching her left side, her eyes widened in realization. "Did you just—"

Footsteps and laughter approached them. Her concentration broke, and he freed himself from her.

"Tobirama—"

"Good night, Your Highness." He nearly dashed back to the palace, ignoring a group of guests from the hall who yelled their greetings at him.

Izuna stayed behind, staring at the spot he occupied just seconds ago. She didn't understand... Why did she feel disappointment growing within her? Tobirama had no reason to leave.

Sparing one last glance to the tree, Izuna returned to the palace. She would pursue her answers soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another timeskip
> 
> from keep me up #2 and the art of war #8

A raven perched on the only empty chair of the small council. A thin red ribbon tied on its leg. it meant only one thing:

Izuna was dead.

Their heated discussion abruptly stopped as Emperor Madara cursed aloud and stormed out the room. She was not supposed to go, no. But she was his commander general and crown princess. Her presence was needed to quell the rebellious clan in the east. The Kaguya would pay for her death, oh he would make them pay with every last soul of their bone-growing brood. Dragonless he was, but nobody would say Uchiha Madara was less deadlier than any of his dragon-riding ancestors.

He alone should suffice.

"Madara!"

He stopped, listening to her hasty footsteps descending the staircase. What does she want now, of all times?

"Don't go."

Angrily he turned around, pushing the empress to a wall. "You don't understand, Hashirama," he hissed, the boiling rage in his chest distorted his voice, and he tasted ashes on his throat. "You don't care about Izuna the way I do. They will have to pay."

"And they will pay." Hashirama dared to look him in the eye and said everything will be okay—no, nothing would be okay or the same not until Madara gave them the taste of death just like they stole Izuna's life.

His hands needed to destroy.

Hashirama's hands slowly lifted, cupping his cheeks with trembling fingers. "Madara, you're the emperor of the realm."

"Don't I have the right to punish those who slew my heir?" He shook her bare shoulders. She responded by hugging him. He had to swallow back his fire.

"They're luring you out," she said softly, rubbing his back, "It is you whom they want to kill. I want them to pay for Izuna's death too, but if you go alone—”

"I won't die."

"Don't risk it. The realm needs you—”

"And where was I when my sister needed me?" he growled into her bare neck, releasing his fiery breath upon her skin. Her passive regeneration kicked in, undoing the damage he inflicted.

Madara admired and hated this ability of hers. He could never, ever truly hurt her. She would brush off the pain and laugh. Even when they were against each other, she was only focused to stop the war.

Hashirama saw the emperor, but not himself.

For a Senju lady trained to fight the sharingan, every waking moment is a war against him, despite her belief that peace had returned to the realm.

**_This blood of Ashura makes an ugly empress, don't you think?_ **

"Do you want me to go?" she asked back, and it sounded like a mockery.

"You?" he laughed, incredulous. "Izuna won't forgive me if I didn't go get her body home." Madara put some distance between them.

"Bring an army with you," she said, almost like a plea. If it was truly a plea, she'd say it as if she was standing on some pedestal built by the other half of the realm who refused to bend their knees for him.

He hated how she easily swayed the commoners, the nobles, his own supporters to join her side, and before long the entire realm had bent their knees for her. Madara was the emperor, the only one acknowledged by the throne, but Hashirama made it no less than a title.

He couldn’t shake off the thought that she had  _ usurped _ the throne. That’s why she was adamant with continuing their betrothal. That’s why she agreed to spend nights in his chambers.

How could he become so fucking dumb, so fucking blind? Sage, Indra was right, of course she was, death didn’t prevent her from seeing through the Usurper’s bullshit.

Madara was a thrall now.

Madara had no realm to rule now.

Madara had no heir to continue the throne now.

Indra was right all along.

Anger flowed within his bloodstream; anger, hatred, jealousy and one thousand other things unnamed by the scholars. They were lost and distraught, unable to find a proper release.

There was only one way out.

"I don't need an army," he said as he pulled her into a kiss, leaving her no room to breathe.

He burned and bruised her again that night, but she merely closed her eyes and sang painful pleasures that agitated him to no end. No matter how rough he treated Hashirama, she never told him to stop, instead she begged for more, no matter how drenched her pillow was with her tears.

She still lied, she still lied of course.

Her skin healed before he could leave his marks, while she dug lines on his back that would serve as a reminder for days.

That no matter how hard Madara hurt her, Hashirama would never truly taste the pain.

And they would never look at each other in the eye.

* * *

It was an hour before dawn when he gazed at the empress's sleeping form, and jumped out the window. The darkness concealed him as he ran towards the east. He summoned the monstrous fox when he was far enough from the palace.

Madara vowed to bring Izuna home, and he would.

* * *

Uchiha Izuna never liked praying to the Sage.  _ I do not trust him, _ she told him once with a hushed voice so their nephews didn't hear.  _ He looks like he's going to eat us alive. _

Tobirama wasn't religious either; he had knelt in the sage's shrine and before banyan trees just for the sake of formality. But tonight, if bending his knee to any deity would allow him to talk to Izuna once more, he would do it at once. The remnants of her chakra gnawed at his guilt since the raven brought the news of her death.

He had an apology to deliver.

He was the one who suggested Emperor Madara to send Izuna. The Kaguya clan was known for their constant internal conflict, and violent tendencies to murder each other. Somehow, the only survivors from the army sent along with Izuna were the horses.

Now the clan was nothing but a name and a bloody page in the scholars’ books.

The Sage of Six Paths’ carved face gazed down to the cold body of Izuna upon a raised platform. She was dressed in her broken armor. Her sword, caked with dried blood, was laid upon her body. The scent of incense and various flowers masked the corpse's actual smell.

A white cloth was draped over her face. The candles didn't show any broken shapes underneath. He lifted his hand, reaching. This is his last chance to see her face before her funeral.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Senju Tobirama turned, his dark cloak whipped around his body. A figure approached from the corner of the shrine. He was sure he was alone here. He stepped down from the platform, his surprise hidden by his bow as he realized who the other person was.

"Your Majesty."

Emperor Madara looked at his brother in law with the same disdainful stare. He suddenly stopped within an arm's reach, his fiery chakra blazing. Glowing red eyes glared in the dark.

"Why do you have her chakra...?" Madara snarled at him.

Tobirama clutched his left side protectively. "Dragon's mark."

"Hers?"

"Hers." The nobleman looked away.

Madara's face contorted in anger. He grabbed the younger man's collar. "Just because you have my sister's mark don't ever think I will forgive you for sending her to her demise."

A reply formed itself on Tobirama's tongue, but he swallowed it back. Fighting was prohibited within the sacred ground. Instead he stared into Madara's sharingan, defiant. The emperor wasn't the only one grieving tonight.

Tobirama hadn't forgiven him for marking his sister either.

Unable to rile him up, Madara let him go and left the shrine. Tobirama waited, then molded his chakra again. After making sure he was the only one in the shrine, he lifted the cloth over her face.

Izuna's eyes were gone.

That was to be expected—the Uchiha guarded the sharingan so closely that none of them was buried with their eyes intact. The Hyuuga did the same too, it’s not news, but still….

Tobirama didn’t expect her to go so soon. Not when he’s used to her presence around his private quarters, around his sister—never in his wildest imaginations he saw the women got along, bonding over Izuna’s embroidery—or accompanying their nephews. Poor kids, they couldn’t stop crying since their father brought her home….

Enough. He was here for a mission. His arts might be far from perfect, but this was the last time he could get a crucial ingredient. By dusk, her remains would be cremated. Her arms were exposed, so he couldn’t take any from there. Half of her lower body was hidden by the casket.

Tobirama found her dress buttons, intending to open a little and slice somewhere around her waist. But there was already a new, hastily sewn scar on her abdomen. It was roughly a hand span wide. None of her recent battle scars were sewn so roughly like this, and Tobirama trusted the Hyuuga who handled royal cremation processes.

If this wasn’t them, then who—?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expanded from the art of war #6

“That was unthinkable,” Tobirama said, ushering a jug of water to Hashirama who sat unceremoniously on the ground. “What was Lord Ashina thinking?

she gulped a lot of water at once, letting few droplets trickle down her dirty skin. "The best for the house of uzumaki, like all Lords do,” she said with a huff, unclasping her battered armor to breathe more easily. “He made an offer to me. Alliance.”

Tobirama frowned. “For what? they’ve been our allies for centuries; our kin and bannermen…” he trailed off, staring into the flapping entrance of his private tent. The victorious cries of the imperial army were carried inside by the wind. “But of course, he wouldn’t simply waltz into your battle with Madara without any purpose in mind.”

“The uzumaki has a better leverage now that the nine tails is sealed within his granddaughter,” she continued, her voice hoarse.

“And Madara’s power now is less than half, thanks to him.”

“We owe him too much.” She slowly lifted her head to look at her brother. “Apparently the sealing was Lady Mito’s idea. not his.”

“How old is she, seventeen?”

“Sixteen,” Hashirama corrected, pausing briefly. “Lord Ashina wants you to marry her.”

Tobirama choked on his own drink, spluttering. “What!?”

Hashirama stared blankly at him. The bags under her eyes were thick and dark; the result of battling her own husband for three days and nights without stopping even once. To make things worse for her, Madara had brought the nine tails, the strongest of chakra beasts, into the battle. Her wood could stop the beast momentarily, but with Madara’s fiery attacks, it quickly turned into an attrition.

In other words, had Uzumaki Ashina didn’t intervened, they would be dead now.

“Ridiculous,” he poured himself a stronger substance. "I’m more than twice her age. if Lord Ashina wants an alliance, it’s better to marry her to either of the twins.”

“My sons aren’t even ten.” Hashirama drew a long sigh. "I knew you would refuse but think about it—”

“No.”

She made a pained expression. “Think of it like a duty—”

“No,” he repeated, his back facing her.

“You’re still heirless, Tobirama.”

“We have a lot of cousins. They’re smart and strong enough to be the future Lord or Lady Senju.”

Her armor clattered as she rose to approach him, taking a bottle of sake for herself from the table. “You never told me why you refuse marriage offers upon offers, instead locking yourself in a damp library all year long, trying to revive the dead.”

“My research will be useful in the future, too.” Tobirama calmly drank his sake. "I have no time for matchmaking.”

“Are you sure you don’t have anyone in mind? Lord Ashina won’t mind you turning him down if you already have a fiancée.”

Tobirama tensed. “Enough—”

“So who is it?”

He narrowed his eyes, hating how perceptive his sister could be at times. “There will be no marriage between us.”

“But… why? Even if she’s a commoner, I will be okay with her as long as you’re happy—”

"If you cared about my happiness, you would turn Lord Uzumaki down without even informing me about it.”

Hashirama was taken aback by his harsher tone. “Tobirama—”

“You want to know why I never considered bringing it up to you?” He slammed his empty bottle on the table, cracking the porcelain. “We saw first hand your marriage life with Madara and how disastrous it is. We didn’t want a marriage tainted with politics like yours. You two could maintain a peaceful facade but look at us now—we’re having another civil war again. If I was married to her, we would have to choose between our siblings or our marriage.”

“Don’t tell me…” Hashirama gaped at him, on the verge of tears.

“Don’t say it,” he looked away. “Marriage for us was a mere pipe dream. Madara and you gave us enough reason to remain unmarried.”

“Brother, I'm so sorry—”

“Get out.”

Hashirama left without another word, and he was grateful for it. His chakra slipped out of his control, flailing and bursting wildly until he reached for his scroll about the reanimation. Maybe when he did succeed someday, Tobirama would tell her about what just happened between him and his sister. The thought calmed him better than a bottle of sake.

And at least Izuna didn’t have to see him waging war against her brother again.

* * *

She forgot to leave the sake bottle behind, and now was too soon to return it. The drink tasted bitter on her tongue, and before she knew it, her cheeks were wet with tears.

Her sons were separated—their sharingan could manifest sometime soon, and having both prospective heirs at the same spot would lessen their survivability. Hashirama hadn’t seen either of them since they evacuated the palace last year.

Because they were at war again. Against Madara. Alone.

She had the entire realm supporting her, saying that the curse of madness finally showed itself on this emperor. She thought she had given him everything she could—herself, birthed his prospective heirs, helped him with the realm….

Hashirama gazed at the starry sky.

Did he want her heart too?

As she sought her answer within hers, Hashirama realized when it came to him she couldn’t tell what her heart wanted now.

Sage, he must have realized it too. He knew, he’s not some empty headed nobles, he could tell, he could piece the hints together, he—

Her knees gave out. She cupped a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries. What had she done to him? Even their siblings could see it….

If only there’s a way to mend this….


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from dance #10, latter parts

The first rule of fighting an Uchiha is simple: look anywhere but into their eyes.

Hashirama memorized it perfectly, embedded it into her reflexes deeply, and masked it well so others would think she was looking into Madara’s eyes while her actual focus was elsewhere. Even when they were skin to skin, without anyone nearby.

Her only duty as the empress of the realm was protecting the people from his wrath and gnawing madness that had consumed his father and predecessor. She still remembered her words to Tobirama after the long years of peace started and, eventually, waned.

She was glad her brother made her say that promise.

How do you love someone so deeply consumed by madness and paranoia?

He was her friend once, but what remained now was a husk of his former self, wishing to destroy the realm he was sworn to protect.

Now that words failed to reach him, Hashirama could only rely on her sword.

* * *

The palace was nearly destroyed, except for the tallest tower, standing tall amidst the charred ruins. Hashirama used her trees to step atop the tower. Madara was still standing, proud and battle-worn. Half of his armor was gone, his weapons mangled beyond repair. His eyes were black, but she avoided them the same. 

“Surrender, Madara,” Hashirama commanded, her voice booming amidst the wind and storm, “you have nowhere else to go.” She lifted a bruised arm, pointing her sword to him.

Her army was far behind, she was unwilling to let anyone be harmed again by his far reaching fire. She alone was suffice. Besides, no other people could withstand his attacks and emerged unscathed.

Madara made no reply, instead he dropped the rest of his armor, taking slow and steady steps towards her. “There is another way,” he said, soft but loud enough for her to hear. He stopped just an inch before her sword.

Her arm started to shake. What’s he doing…? Wasn’t he just adamant to take her life?

Madara’s sharingan flared back to life, and this time, for the first time in her life, she couldn’t look away.

Hashirama wouldn’t look away.

Like any other weapons, the sharingan existed to instill fear in the enemies’ hearts. What Hashirama saw was tinged with a hint of fear. Strange.

Emperor Madara feared nothing.

“One last question.”

She blinked.

“Don’t you love me, Hashirama?”

Oh Sage.  _ Oh Sage. _

Why did he only say it now, in the beginning of their end?

* * *

The second thing Hashirama learned about the sharingan was that the eye reflected the heart.

She caught Madara just as her sword pierced his heart. She laid his head on her lap, their eyes finally looking into each other.

“I…”

He didn’t need her answer, because her tears fell to his face, as he breathed his last.

Hashirama closed Madara’s eyes.

The storm ceased.


	8. sisa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sisa - leftover
> 
> this is not happy, i told u. i listened to the entire game of thrones ost for writing and i cried despite this isn't as detailed as my usual fics.
> 
> oh p.s. for this AU i still used the same world map from naruto, just turned it 90 degrees counter-clockwise so the Kumogakure/Kaminarinokuni is in the north while Suna/Kazenokuni is in the south

Tobirama hated waiting alone.

Hashirama had specifically instructed him to wait behind the safe zone with the wounded. The safe zone being hundreds of meters away from the palace, once so glorious and magnificent, now mere charred ruins. Only a third survived the emperor’s wrath, which fortunately included all the important rooms within.

The Hyuuga were still unwilling to join the fray, so he had to make do with his normal-sighted scouts. They last reported the emperor’s fire last seen more than two hours ago, and there was a misshapen tree keeping one of the charred towers intact, meandering upwards to its rooftop.

The Realm held its breath. Storm clouds gathered and dispersed.

Silence.

As the sun began to set, Tobirama signaled the sensing team to approach. They sensed no chakra activity. They heard nothing but the wind. They saw no movement from the rooftop. Still, no one dared to climb the tower.

Tobirama leaped through space.

* * *

He landed behind his sister. Weapons and pieces of mangled armor were scattered about.

Hashirama sat on the ground, seemingly petrified, cradling Madara’s body. Tobirama stepped aside, watching the emperor’s battered form.

He wasn’t breathing. Tobirama could breathe.

She won.

“Sister?”

No response. He knelt beside her.

Hashirama’s eyes were wide, her face pale, her lips slightly parted. Tears were still streaming down her face, dripping onto Madara’s bleeding chest. A bloodied sword was discarded nearby.

“Sister?” he repeated, softer.

Her face was still blank, seemingly not recognizing her brother’s presence.

Dread crept into his mind.

Did she really win?

* * *

They had to pry her away from the emperor. Her grip was so tight that her nails dug into his skin, drawing blood as she insisted on holding his arm. She made no sound during the whole ordeal, apart from a wordless whimper.

Tobirama gave him to the remaining Uchiha and the Sage’s Servants, preparing him for the funeral and ensuring his eyes were handled properly. His sister’s remaining handmaidens took the empress—now the sole ruler of the realm—to her chamber, washing and dressing her in clean clothes.

At midnight, the screaming started.

He was arranging for the return of the princes when the sound tore through the silent darkness. Tobirama leaped—stumbling and rolling upon his emergence from the shortcut, and greeted by the sight of his sister on the floor, screaming. Wailing.

Her handmaidens had retreated to the corners, trembling in fear.

Tobirama grabbed her wrists, but with inhuman strength she threw him across the room, all while still screaming.

“Sister, it’s me!” He coughed, his back had hit a hard end of a furniture, and his ribs hurt. “LISTEN TO ME!”

Hashirama turned, her screaming stopped. She blinked her red rimmed eyes several times before her knees gave out and she fell.

“Tobi…?”

For the first time in several years, Tobirama thanked the Sage from the depths of his heart.

* * *

Her screaming might have stopped but from time to time, Hashirama would burst crying. In a meeting, during breakfast, in the middle of the night. She no longer smiled, no longer laughed, she took every duty seriously, barely pausing until every task was done.

Hashirama won, but some parts of herself had died along with Madara.

She could heal herself, her body knew how, but this? Tobirama had counseled scholars and healers alike, nobody could come up with a better situation than removing her from her current environment—

“Lord Senju, an uprising has risen in the Mist Isles.”

“They’re infested with pirates, no wonder.”

“Lord Senju, the Sand delegation took offence for being unable to have an audience with Empress Hashirama. They left without telling anyone.”

“I offered to speak with myself, but they refused. My sister is still grieving.”

“Lord Senju, winter has settled early in the northern lands.”

Tobirama raised his head from a scroll he was reading. “What do you mean winter; it’s yet midsummer.”

The page shook his head. “Everyone said that, my lord. It’s indeed colder, though.”

He was right; an unusually chilly wind had swept over the fragmented empire. From the jagged peaks of the thunderous north, to the scorching sands in the south.

Even the chakra beasts couldn’t cause something on that scale.

* * *

“A legend is rising from its slumber.”

The entire council—or what remained of it since many lords chose to side with their rebellious people—was silent. Everyone avoided the Hyuuga priest who just spoke, until the silence was heavy and uncomfortable.

“That’s a bedtime story,” someone said.

“Even legends have a grain of truth in it,” the priest retorted, clearly annoyed. “What the Elemental Heroes of old managed to drive away, together with the Sage, is returning.” His snow-white eyes swept the table. “Because there’s no dragon on the throne.”

“It’s just weather,” Tobirama started, but to his surprise, it’s his sister who denied it.

“No,” Hashirama said so softly, “I can feel it. It’s not a mere breeze.” She gazed out of the window. “All the surviving face-carved banyans are withering.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?” another council member asked the priest, “you can’t possibly have us gather all the powerful lords from the corners of the Realm to the uncharted north to stab the wind?”

“That is if they’re still loyal to the throne,” another quipped, “look at us; almost everyone here comes from the heart of the realm, the Fire region. The High Lords might have helped the Empress subduing the Mad Emperor, but their people...”

Tobirama didn’t need to hear the rest. He glanced at Hashirama, who’s still gazing outside. Her chakra was uneasy.

“Has anyone seen the Whisperer?”

At her question, everyone fell silent. Everyone exchanged glances and shook their heads. She didn’t follow it up with anything else, letting the talk move on to the upcoming harvest as the Fire region was the realm’s bread basket.

“If everyone wishes to separate themselves from us, why won’t we let them be?” a particularly hot headed Sarutobi lord spoke, “see how they’re going to survive the upcoming long winter without our grains!”

More voices agreeing with him.

“All that rises, must fall.” The priest nodded at them. “The Realm began when the Elemental Heroes swore allegiance to the Sage. His firstborn and grandson solidified this Empire. Now that line ends—”

“Madara had sons,” Tobirama cut him.

The Hyuuga shifted in his seat, squirming under his piercing gaze.

* * *

“Are we not going to handle the rebellions?”

“What rebellions?”

Tobirama held back his ire, patiently repeating what they discussed for the rest of the earlier council meeting. Open rebellion had sparked in three regions, and the fourth was going on social unrest.

“The threat of early winter makes everyone nervous and easily provoked,” he ended his explanation.

“Where are my sons?”

“In their study,” he answered.

A change was apparent on her face. “They’re here?”

“Since last week, Sister, you surely have seen them.”

Hashirama shook her head. Tobirama went to the princes’ quarter later, but found they’re tucking in early.

“The Princes refuse to see the Empress,” one of their nannies told him upon his insistence. “Please understand, my lord, they’re still children. They are mourning their father.”

Madara’s funeral was done privately, three days ago. Hashirama broke down once they lifted the cloth covering his face, and she had to be escorted away to recover. The princes came shortly after, eyes swollen, hand in hand paying their last respect to their father, silently following the ceremony until his body was ashes. Afterwards, Tobirama accompanied them for lunch, slowly coaxing them to talk. They told him good memories about Madara; when he taught them horse riding, reading, archery… many that Tobirama never witnessed in person.

At that time, they never mentioned Hashirama.

He was aware of the whispers circulating among the loyal Uchiha. The Princes’ eyes weren’t awakened yet, despite multiple tragedies had fallen on their family…

It was late night when Tobirama’s door was pounded aloud, his personal servants yelling for his name.

“My Lord! The Prince! The throne!”

He didn’t need further explanation. He smelled something was burning, and it was huge. The burning smell awakened everyone in the palace. The suiton guards were ahead of him, towards the throne room.

The throne was ablaze. The fire had reached the ceiling and the dragon Melestetral bones hung overhead. The fire had swallowed the empress throne, together with several statues and painting around them. As he barked orders and ensured the escape path was made for everyone else, Tobirama realized the fire wasn’t ordinary.

While the squad started to draw water, he found the younger prince in a corner, shielded by one of the guards, wide-eyed at the throne, face pale in terror. He was physically unharmed, which brought relief to Tobirama.

“Why did you wander out last night…?” He took the boy, but he insisted on staying, screaming not unlike his mother back then. “Ssh, ssh… my prince, let’s leave…”

The Prince screamed harder.

“I’m here. Uncle’s here,” Tobirama tried to calm him down. “Where’s your brother?”

At that question, the boy fell silent. Then, with a trembling arm, he pointed at the burning throne.

Tobirama’s heart froze.

“MY SON!”

“Your Majesty—don’t!”

“Sister—!”

He turned around to see tree branches tearing the throne room apart, Hashirama in sleeping attire jumping into the fire as thick vines took away burning rubbles. The fire could burn her trees…

“DRAW MORE WATER!” Tobirama barked at the guards, now tripled in size as everyone joined the fray.

Windows were smashed open, allowing them to use water from the garden underneath. Hashirama had disappeared in the fire, but her trees were still growing—even larger now that the room was flooded. 

It was dawn when the fire finally subdued. Amidst the charred trees and rubbles, only the throne remained, now scorched dark. Hashirama sat on its feet, her clothes burned, clutching a pile of charcoal.

“My son…” she screamed, “my beloved son…!”

Behind him, the surviving prince wailed. Tobirama looked away, his eyes stung.

* * *

The palace became insignificant.

As more rebellions rose and people left the palace to return to their respective homelands, Hashirama preferred to use their old Senju residence to hold meetings and have an audience with the people in the Fire region. Most Uchiha remained behind, guarding their old inheritance—library, research materials, treasures left by many kings and dragons before their days.

Personally, Tobirama preferred things this way so his sister and nephew could recover better. They kept going back and forth between the new capital and the palace, but after today, things would be different.

Today was the last council meeting held in the palace.

The Senju siblings finally came up with a solution for the ensuing rebellions: to return the realm into its previous state. After a thousand years, it was fragmented again.

“The heroes of old had their homes in the regions that make up this empire,” Hashirama said to the high lords. “They swore loyalty to the Sage, and his firstborn Indra. Now that his line ended…” Her lips trembled.

Only the Sandlord Reto offered her a sympathetic look.

“Now that his line ended, and the dragons no more, the vow no longer serves its purpose.” Her gaze swept the audience. “I believe rather than keeping a realm intact but full of unrest, it’s better to let people govern their own regions.

“The heroes may have long perished, but their shadows remain.” Hashirama opened a scroll on a table, a treaty that would make the breaking of the realm official. The empty spaces provided for the signatures were labeled by the titles held by the Elemental Heroes of old.

She took a pen, signing her name. “From today on, I am the Hokage.”

After the meeting, Tobirama met a group of Uchiha who were moving some treasures to their new residence in Konoha—a town that was designed to be the new Fire capital. They brought a large ornate chest.

“What’s in it?”

“Dragon eggs,” Uchiha Hikaku answered. “Still petrified.”

“Shouldn’t you leave them behind for the Prince?”

“He’s welcome to visit them in our residence,” Hikaku said coldly. His meaning was clear; until the Prince awakened his eyes, he’s not considered an Uchiha.

Tobirama knew there were some who still disliked his sister for marring the line of the dragons, making Madara’s children unfit for the throne, let alone to bring back the dragons.

The incident back then merely solidifying their opinion.

* * *

“It’s dark…”

Hashirama gazed at the ruined palace. As all valuables had been secured, no lights were lit in many spots. After tonight, only the Uchiha were allowed within the grounds, although the garden would still be accessible to the Fire citizens.

Their breaths condensed in the night air.

“Lord—Raikage, I mean, has promised to recheck the wall in the north,” Tobirama said. “It hadn’t been properly manned since before the dragons faded. As thick as the legend said, time surely has made holes along its structures. Otherwise we wouldn’t enjoy dwindling harvest and early winter…”

Hashirama definitely didn’t listen to him. She kneeled at the small cemetery complex, designed for infants and children of the royal family. Her firstborn and unborn children were buried here.

“Konoha is far…” she whispered.

“Close to our home.”

She shook her head. “I have more family here, who can’t leave this place anymore.” Hashirama rose, leaving the cemetery.

He followed her until they reached the garden, where the only green plant remaining was a banyan with a face grown on its trunk. Hashirama enjoined her hands, focusing, and in one single breath she grew thick vines to rip out the face off the trunk.

“Sis—!”

“Silence.”

She was facing away from him, deeply focusing on the task. Tobirama molded his chakra, sensing that the omnipresence haunting the garden slowly fading. Gone.

“...What did you do?”

The spot that was once occupied by the face had become a gaping hole. The trunk creaked open on its own until the hole was big enough for a human to step inside its darkness.

“I’ve been thinking,” Hashirama said, “how to ensure… our harvests won’t fail, with the upcoming long winter. The Fire region was the breadbasket of the empire. If our crops failed… there’d be casualties.”

He glanced at the tree, then back at her. “No—you’re the Hokage, you can’t.”

“There’s no other way.”

“What about your son?”

“...He’ll understand.” Her voice cracked. “Ever since I separated them for their safety… he won’t talk to me. He won’t see me.” Hashirama sighed and pushed her hair away from her face. “I think he hates me for killing Madara.”

It was the first time Tobirama heard her mentioning Madara since the emperor’s death.

“You had no choice.”

“I had one. I could’ve loved him like he wished I did.”

Tobirama couldn’t say anything. He was the one who made her promise such a thing anyway.

If anything, the whole mess could’ve been his fault.

Hashirama stared at the chunks of tree bark scattered around her feet. “Maybe I did, but I deluded myself into thinking that everything is just an act. Because I didn’t want to be obsessed like this… Usurper.”

He blurted out. “Did you love him, Sister?”

She let out a soft laugh that soon turned into a choked sob. With one last glance at him, Hashirama stepped into the opened banyan.

* * *

The tree closed around the hole, as if it was never opened at all.

Tobirama’s back lost its strength. He slumped on the brick path. He still could sense Hashirama’s presence in the garden, slowly spreading, replacing the omnipresence that reached the entire realm, from banyan to banyan. During their war versus the emperors, the trees were burned. Tobirama didn’t know if there were any surviving banyan except here.

“Is she dead?”

He nearly reached for his kunai when he recognized his nephew’s presence. “Sage’s beard… have you been hiding all this time?”

The Prince blinked. “Is she dead?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Much to his surprise, it was the Prince who hugged him—his uncle, an adult. Tobirama shifted their awkward stance to hug him back.

Sage. He needed it.

“Alright.” Tobirama released him. “Have you packed everything you need? We’ll ride to Konoha tonight.”

The boy gulped. “That, Uncle… may I have a request?”

“What is it, my prince?”

“I… I wish to Unname myself. Myself and my brother.”

Tobirama didn’t mishear. The Prince said it loud and clear. He wished for an Unnaming.

His mind could conjure many reasons why he wished it. Avoiding being used as a political tool, for one. Still, Tobirama needed to hear from him directly.

“Why? And why for your brother too?”

“We… we’re unworthy of our name. Father named us Hinoki, my brother and I both. It’s what’s left from him… what I have… I…” He swallowed thickly, seemingly trying not to cry again. “History will say we’re a failure. I don’t want that, I don’t want the name our father gave us become tainted…”

“You like your name that much?”

“I love it, Uncle.” He nodded. “It reminds me of Father.” His eyes briefly darted at the banyan behind Tobirama.

That prompted another question from him. “If your mother didn’t… if she’s here, would you still Unname yourself?”

He nodded. At the same time, something fell on top of his head.

Tobirama looked up, finding several thin aerial roots weaved into one, reaching them despite them not standing underneath its wide branches. After the first roots fell, another group fell on the boy’s head again.

“We hate her for killing Father,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“She… loves him.”

“We know. That is why.”

When he opened his eyes, they weren’t black anymore. They were purple, with black rings.

“That’s—!”

“Uncle, please.” The boy held his hand. “We know what this is. We kept it secret. You’re the only one who knows beside me, now…”

Tobirama’s heart was racing. That’s surely not sharingan. That’s the eyes of the—

“Sage. Yes.” His eyes went back to normal. “We got it when Father died, before we were told about it. We didn’t want to make everyone more… panicked.”

Tobirama was at loss for words. He massaged his temples.

“That night… Uncle, that night… the Whisperer said we should try for the throne,” he continued. “I wanted to go but Brother didn’t. He said he’s older so he should do it first, then me. If I didn’t listen to the Whisperer…” He cried.

He’s just a boy.

Tobirama hugged him again.

After he told the boy to live with a Senju acquaintance who never met the royal children in person, the boy excused himself.

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said. “I’ll miss you, but I don’t think we’ll meet again.”

The boy’s footsteps long disappeared when Tobirama finally stood, patting dust from his robe. He glanced at the banyan, at Hashirama in its trunk. He thought of her dead children, husband, and sister in law. He thought of the time after Senju Butsuma’s execution, how his family went separate ways, and he was left alone trying to reach the samurai in the north.

“Good night, Sister.”

He had been alone once. He would be fine now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. I've finished writing about the founders in this AU. maybe I'll jump write to their time during the war arc someday.


End file.
